Costigan's Needle

by Jerry Sohl

  “Lady—” The lieutenant’s face was red.

  “I’m not a lady. I’m Mrs. Peredge,” Betty said. “I work here and I know these men and I’m going to order their breakfasts.”

  “Lady—” The lieutenant’s face was redder. Then suddenly it turned white and his resistance crumbled. “All right,” he said. “All right, men. We’ll take a break. Let’s give these fellows some air. We’ll continue the questions after they have their breakfasts.”

  They felt better after breakfast in Dr. Costigan’s office and after they all had made use of Dr. Costigan’s electric razor.

  “This is more like it!” Dr. Costigan said, patting his stomach expansively. “I’ll admit it’s a little early in the morning, but I think a spot of brandy would make it just about perfect.” He looked out of the office window at the milling people.

  Devan lit a cigarette from a package purchased for him by Betty and inhaled it gratefully. Orcutt filled his pipe. Sam Otto was munching on the last piece of toast.

  “You’re supposed to meet over at the Needle,” Betty said, coming in from the outside. “Just talked to the lieutenant. He wants to see a demonstration of the machine.”

  “Just as long as there are no more questions!” Dr. Costigan said.

  “Don’t say that,” Sam Otto said, his eyes bright and the cigar Betty had thoughtfully provided lolling out of his mouth. “This publicity ought to make us.”

  “At the expense of Glenn Basher and the detective,” Tooksberry said. “They will prevent any more experiments with the Needle when they see how it works. They’ll probably close this place up.”

  Sam shook his head. “No they won’t. You don’t know what publicity can do. People won’t rest now till they know what’s in the Needle’s Eye. There’ll be too much public pressure to bring back the detective to close the Needle down. Somebody’s going to have to go into the Eye and bring back the right answer. You just wait and see.”

  “I’m sorry it was ever started,” Orcutt said wearily. “If I had known it was going to cost the lives of two men...”

  “Nonsense!” Devan said. “We don’t know that Basher and Griffin are dead. We’ll never know until someone goes in there and comes back.”

  Policemen, newsmen, photographers, investigators, the six Inland Electronics men and Betty Peredge assembled at the Needle’s Eye where the six explained in detail just what had happened to the two men, Sergeant Peavine corroborating the part about Detective Griffin.

  “The machine ought to be on now,” Orcutt said. “Our man, Mr. Basher, and your man, Mr. Griffin, may right now be trying to find the way back. They’ll never do it if the Needle isn’t on.”

  “I want a demonstration,” the lieutenant said, “but I don’t want any more fatalities.”

  “Fatalities!” Sam Otto snorted.

  “You’ll all have to move back, away from the machine,” the lieutenant ordered. “Then we’ll have the test.”

  They moved away from the Eye and Dr. Costigan set the switches and adjusted dials and turned it on. “It’s working,” he said from the portable panel.

  Lieutenant Johnson gave him a dubious look, glared at Sergeant Peavine. “It looks the same as it did before.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Costigan said. “Put your hand in the Eye there and you’ll see what happens. Be careful, though.”

  The lieutenant moved cautiously to the Eye, his hands in front of him. He got close, saw the ends of his fingers disappear. The crowd gasped. He drew his hands back quickly, rubbed them together. He put out trembling hands again experimentally, saw the same thing happen, drew them back even more quickly, looked at them and saw they were whole.

  “All right,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. “Turn it off.” He stared at the Eye unbelievingly.

  “Wait a minute,” Devan said. “You can’t shut off the machine now.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just as Mr. Orcutt says, Lieutenant. Detective Griffin and Glenn Basher may be looking for a way back from wherever they are. They can only return here if the machine is working.”

  “You think they’re alive?”

  “Your hands aren’t dead, are they?”

  “Well...”

  “There is a better way, a quicker way to find out where they are.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone could go in the Eye and show them the way back.”

  The lieutenant shook his head. “No one is going into that Eye and that’s final. As a matter of fact, if the machine stays on it constitutes a menace. Someone else is apt to fall in.”

  “Believe me, Lieutenant,” Orcutt said, “it’s the only way to get your detective back. If you turn it off you’re sentencing him to his permanent absence from this life.”

  It took a lot of convincing. The lieutenant finally checked with the chief of police who, it was rumored, checked with the commissioner who checked with the mayor before it was decided the Eye should stay open to the other side. As a precaution, a fence was ordered built around the Needle, a wooden fence seven feet high, a fence with a gate and a policeman at the gate facing the Needle’s Eye. No one was to go into the enclosure and the policeman was to keep his eye on the Eye to give the word at the first sight of anybody or anything. He was armed.

  “I don’t see why they couldn’t have let you go,” Betty said as workmen were building the ordered fence early in the afternoon. She was sitting with Devan on an empty packing case in front of Dr. Costigan’s office; their backs were against the front wall of the office.

  “They keep hoping we’ll produce Detective Griffin like a rabbit out of a hat,” Devan said.

  “From what was said, he could come walking out of the Eye. Is that right?”

  “Yes. That’s possible.”

  “The Needle is certainly remarkable.”

  “That’s the word for it, all right. But we’ve known for months what it will do.”

  “If you knew, why did you have to build it? It doesn’t seem to really accomplish anything except making people disappear.”

  “I’ll agree. It’s only got us in trouble so far.”

  “It’s stirred up Chicago and the rest of the country. Do you realize there’s very little else on the radio?”

  “I suppose.”

  “In the papers, too, I imagine, from all the pictures they have taken.” She contemplated the tall, stately Needle. “To think some of the circuits I put on drafting paper are now part of that big thing. But surely there must have been some other reason to build it than just to make things disappear.”

  “Things don’t disappear, Betty. Only living flesh. Don’t ask me why.”

  “I suppose you wonder where it goes?”

  He nodded. “That’s the reason for the big Needle.” He explained about the little one, how they saw uses for it in surgery, in diagnosis, why nobody would risk one if he didn’t know where his disappearing body part was going. “We built it big enough to go into so we could find out where the body member goes. But there have been two mistakes and we don’t want a third.” He watched the workmen for a while, saying nothing. Then, “I suppose I should have stayed in Florida. But then if I were there I’d be coming back now to find out what this is all about.”

  “What’s in Florida?” Betty asked. She turned to him a little too brightly, he thought.

  “A place called Pelican Rock. Bought it, but never had a chance to live in it until this winter. And then this Needle business came up. My wife and two kids are still down there. Ever been to Florida?”

  “No. Frank and I think we’ll do it some day. Either Florida or California. Don’t know which. Just seems sensible to live in a place that demands less of your body.”

  “Are you working for that day? Is that why you took this job?”

  “No,” she said. “I have a boy, Jimmy. I’ve taken care of Jimmy for six years and now he’s in school and I don’t have anything to do—Oh, I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I could find a milli
on things around the house to do. But there’s Frank’s mother. She’s staying with us and gives Jimmy his lunch. She knows I like to work, so we made a deal: She does all the housework and I come home with a pay check. With both Frank and me working, we have a little left over these days.”

  “I know what you mean. I have two boys. They’re a little older than Jimmy and they’re costing a lot, too.”

  “You look tired.”

  “I am tired. I don’t know when I’ve been so tired. I haven’t been up all night since I was in college. We used to play bridge two days running. But I bet I couldn’t go to sleep if I tried.”

  “Why don’t you lean over this way?” Betty said. “Put your head on my lap and I’ll massage your forehead. I had my night’s sleep and I feel fine. I don’t mind, really.”

  Her hands were cool and soft, as he knew they would be, and she had the good sense not to say anything while she moved her fingers over his hot forehead. He could not remember anything so pleasant and so relaxing and he was on the point of falling asleep when loud voices from the direction of the Needle made him sit up.

  Several people he had not seen before were talking with the policeman stationed at the gate of the fence workmen were constructing. The officer was waving his arms around, pointing frequently to the entrance office and shaking his head. The three people, a large man, a small man and a woman, did not seem to understand.

  “I’ve been watching them,” Betty said. “They walked in when the policeman at the office left his post for a moment.”

  “I wonder who they are.” Devan jumped down from the packing box, flexed his muscles, was satisfied to feel the rush of blood through his arms and legs. The near-nap had done him some good. “Where is everybody?”

  Betty came off the crate, stood beside him. “There are only a few policemen left. And I don’t see any newspaper people at all.”

  Devan glanced up at the windows of Dr. Costigan’s office, saw Sam Otto’s face in the window, his eyes looking over Devan’s head at the three people at the Needle.

  “I’d like to get out of here,” Devan said.

  “You want to go home?”

  “No. I mean I’d like to breathe some fresh air for a change.” He walked up the steps to the office door, Betty behind him. They went in.

  Dr. Costigan was asleep at his desk, his head in his arms.

  Orcutt glanced at them with sleepy eyes; he was leaning back comfortably in another chair.

  “Tennis, anyone?” Devan asked.

  “Go to hell,” Sam Otto said from the window. “Not that I ever played tennis.”

  Orcutt rose and stretched. “Well, Dev, what’s to become of the project now?”

  “I haven’t thought about that,” Devan said. “I’ve been wondering what happens to us.”

  “We’ll probably go to jail before it’s all over,” Tooksberry said. “I called my wife and she thinks I’m there already. Nearly hung up on me.”

  “We’re going to have visitors,” Sam said.

  “Who?” Orcutt asked, not getting up. “I hope it’s not for questions again.”

  “Some people who were arguing with the policeman at the Needle are coming this way.”

  A few minutes later the three who had slipped past the police guard at the door came into the room with a policeman.

  “These three say they have a message from your boss,” the officer said. “Do you know them?”

  The three stood side by side near the door. The tall man had the weight to match, carried himself proudly nonetheless—perhaps a little too proudly, Devan thought. His chin was so high, in fact, he looked as if he were seeing everything through the crescent part of bifocals, yet he didn’t wear glasses. The lip beneath a long cigar matched his chin; they were both massive. His eyes were fiery, his long, black overcoat was several seasons out of style and the belt was not tied. His black hat was battered but Devan had to admit it was clean.

  There was a woman on his left, a bent-over woman with a hatchet nose, bulging eyes, black scraggly hair showing from beneath an old black hat. Her lips were pressed firmly together.

  The man on the big man’s right was as erect as a man could be, his feet forming a V, his shoulders back, his suit neatly pressed, from what Devan could see of it between the folds of the open topcoat. His face was nothing unusual, but there was a fanatical gleam in the eyes.

  The three stood there, the big man looking them over one at a time, the woman staring disdainfully at Betty, the man simply at attention, eyes straight ahead.

  “Never saw these people before in my life, Officer,” Devan said.

  “Neither have I,” Orcutt said. The others nodded.

  “Who’s in charge here?” thundered the big man.

  “What do you want?” Devan countered, angered by the loud voice and gruff manner.

  “We have a message from The Boss,” the man said.

  “Who’s that?” Sam Otto asked.

  “Who else but God?” the large man said. “We are His children. I’m Eric Sudduth of the Sudduth Rescue Mission down the street here, Grand Director of the Rescue of the Willing and the Wise. This,” he said, indicating the woman, “is Sister Abigail, Directress of the Labor of Women for Rescue and Redemption. This Eminent Brother is Orvid Blaine, Assistant Director of the Work.”

  Devan nodded. “I’m Devan Traylor.” He introduced the others. “What do you want with us?”

  “You must turn off the machine,” Sudduth said. “God has told us you are interfering with His work and will. Two have been sacrificed to prove what happens when you violate The Boss’s orders. The machine must be destroyed.”

  “Amen,” Sister Abigail said.

  “You better do like the man says,” the Assistant Director said between his teeth. “We don’t want to fool around with God’s will.”

  “I’m sorry I brought these people in here,” the policeman said. “I thought they knew you. This man here said—”

  “Turn off the machine and there’ll be glory for you and glory for me!” Sister Abigail’s smile revealed a picket fence of teeth.

  Devan caught Orcutt’s eye, saw mirrored there the embarrassment he felt. There was a period of silence which became more unbearable the longer it stretched; it reminded Devan of an amateur play in which one of the participants had forgotten his line and the others were unable to go on because their lines had to be cued by the forgetful thespian.

  “All right,” the officer said, jumping into the breach. “Come on, you three. Out you go.” He moved to step in front of them.

  “Wait a minute,” Devan said. “I’m sure these people are well-intentioned. They must feel very strongly about what they believe to barge in here this way.”

  “You’d better turn it off, mister,” Blaine said menacingly. “You heard what the Grand Director said.”

  “I don’t know about God’s will, but I do know we have to keep the Needle going so the two men in the Eye can find their way back here.”

  “There is no way back,” Sudduth said. “There is no turning back on what’s been done.”

  “Just what is your racket?” Orcutt asked.

  “You better watch that—”

  “Quiet, Orvid.” Eric Sudduth drew in his breath with dignity, glared at his questioner. “It is obvious to me, sir, that your intelligence has not allowed you that grander vision, that greater view of this troubled world that we have so that you could participate in the great work we are doing. The world is in its present crisis because of men like you and it is our allotted task to bring you into the fold.”

  “What’s that got to do with the Needle?” Sam Otto asked.

  “It has everything to do with it. The two men you so unceremoniously annihilated with the machine might some day have been led to the light.”

  “You mean they might have some day joined your Rescue Mission, is that it?” Devan said.

  “We don’t have the whole world to draw on,” Sudduth said. “We must be careful about what we allo
w to occur in this neighborhood. The forces of law and order may let you do what you will about letting people walk into annihilation, but as Grand Director of our Rescue Work, I cannot allow it. Especially so close to home.”

  Orcutt snorted. “You couldn’t feel any worse about losing a couple potential converts than we do about losing the men themselves.”

  “We can’t allow any more to go through. You must turn off the machine.”

  “Turn it off in the name of the Grand Director,” Sister Abigail said. “Turn it off in the name of the master! In Glory’s name!”

  “That will suffice, Sister,” Sudduth said.

  “We can’t turn it off,” Devan said.

  “This way!” The policeman suddenly came to life, opened the door.

  “The Grand Director said turn it off,” Blaine said, his eyes dark, his face set. He walked toward Devan.

  “You, too,” the policeman said, coming forward and catching Blaine by the arm.

  Blaine broke away and the policeman caught his arm again, twisting it behind him, leading him to the doorway.

  “It will go hard with all of you,” Sudduth said before he went out.

  “You can’t disobey the master!” the woman screamed.

  “Amen!” Blaine yelled.

  The policeman pushed him out the door.

  8

  It was unfortunate that the Chicago Police Department was forced to admit there was such a thing as Costigan’s Needle, especially since two persons had disappeared within it, and that this property of the device was easily demonstrable, for this very admission placed squarely on the shoulders of the department the responsibility of bringing back either or both of the vanished men. And this they could not do.

  A cat in a tree is a neighborhood crisis with at least one last resort: the fire department can be called and the cat brought down by a fireman who simply crawls up a ladder to get it, though this practice is frowned upon but tolerated by every department across the land. Still, no more certain way of rescuing a cat has been found.

  A murder has a routine procedure: Look for the murderer. Police departments, while not always finding the murderer, at least go through the motions of looking for him.